The Seven Year Slip

by Ashley Poston

The monster closed her eyes to all the pain she would give the people she left—the terrible weight of missing her and trying not to blame her all in the same breath. And then you started blaming yourself. Could you have done something, been that voice that finally broke through? If you loved them more, if you paid more attention, if you were better, if you only asked, if you even knew to ask, if you could just read between the lines and— If, if, if. There is no easy way to talk about suicide. Sometimes the people you love don’t leave you with goodbyes—they just leave.

I hated her for leaving, and I loved her for staying as long as she could.

Because the things that mattered most never really left. The love stays. The love always stays, and so do we.